


An Art to War: The Extraordinary Moment

by GuileandGall



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Cullen Smut, F/M, Friends to Lovers, Mutual Pining, Smut, Sparring
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-30
Updated: 2017-10-30
Packaged: 2019-01-26 22:59:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,178
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12568120
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GuileandGall/pseuds/GuileandGall
Summary: It seems sleep can be a rare commodity for some in Skyhold, which leads to an unexpected encounter between the leader of the Inquisition and her commander.





	An Art to War: The Extraordinary Moment

**Author's Note:**

  * For [amarmeme](https://archiveofourown.org/users/amarmeme/gifts).



**An Art to War: The Extraordinary Moment**

_“Engage people with what they expect; it is what they are able to discern and confirms their projections. It settles them into predictable patterns of response, occupying their minds while you wait for the extraordinary moment—that which they cannot anticipate.”_

_—Sun Tzu, The Art of War_

**-1-**

The darkness massed between the rafters of the ceiling, obscuring all the detail of the intricately carved wood beams and braces. Though the shroud of black nothingness camouflaged the lifelike flowers that never wilted, and the tiny faces frozen in what seemed like unending screams, it did little to quiet the inquisitor’s mind. All her tricks had failed—counting, trying to blank her mind, and just closing her eyes—and left lying in that big comfy feather bed, wishing for sleep. Every sound magnified in the darkness, every breath, even the blinks of her own eyelids clicked and echoed in her ears, as preposterous as that seemed. Beneath those quiet sounds in her bedroom there was something else, something far off. A soft thwap. A grunt. It was the first twang of a sword against a training dummy that alerted her to the fact that she was not the only insomniac within Skyhold’s walls that night.

She slipped from the sheets, gray skin blending into the shadows of a mostly moonless night. Pulling open the doors to the balcony allowed the biting breeze into her quarters. Her skin puckered, and a tight field of goosebumps rolled over her body in an invigorating fashion with the first sting of the cold air. A quick peek beyond the balustrade curved her full lips. Discovering that her mind had not played a trick on her sent a rush of adrenaline through the qunari. She stepped quickly into a pair of trousers and her boots. The white linen shirt still fluttered around her as she grabbed her vambraces and her sword.

The chance for a fight, even just a sparring match put a spring in her rapid steps. Her long stride carried her through the sleeping keep and out across the yard, toward whoever else suffered her same affliction. When she caught sight of her commander in naught but his trousers and a loose white shirt a wide grin curled across her lips, flashing her sharp white teeth almost ominously. He didn’t see it, of course. But the prospect of a rematch quickened her pulse in a way that could only be bad for her attempts to get to sleep.

“Nightmares?” she blurted out, breaking the silence with her low, loud voice as the commander lunged toward his target.

Her interruption clearly threw off the smooth thrust of his sword. He turned toward her so fast that, if she didn’t know better, she might have thought she’d caught him up to no good. Of course, early on Herah Adaar learned the Inquisition’s commander was not that kind of man. No, Cullen Rutherford was as straight-laced as she had ever come across.

“I— uh … Inquisitor? did I wake you?” he asked, eyes flicking past her toward the high tower room she occupied, as if he could measure just how loud one would have to be for the sound to reach that distance.

Even she turned to give a look up at the balcony with the open doors, though that detail wasn’t quite visible from the ground. “Of course not. Sleep can be … evasive,” she said.

Cullen chuckled. “Ah, I understand,” he said with a more relaxed nod.

Just then he seemed to notice her lacing up the guards onto her forearms. “Up for a brawl?” she asked, noticing where his attention lay.

“Are you certain?” he asked.

Lowering her chin, she knew quite well the effect lifting her gray eyes to his would have. She approached every fight with a similar stare—sharp and hooded by a menacingly arched jagged brow. The scars etched into her face only added to the threat in it. This was a look she mastered early in life. While some Tal-Vashoth tried to set people at ease in their presence, Herah Adaar preferred to keep them on edge. She found that feeding their fear and concern over her presence served her better than pretending to be something she was not, like some of her fellows who could never quite pull off innocuous even when they trimmed their horns.

He met her gaze, showing little to no affectation. That just caused the curve of a smirk to return to her lips. After a moment, she drew her broadsword and tossed the scabbard aside. “I am.”

“Shouldn’t we use blunted weapons?”

“Worried about a little scratch, Cullen?” The twist of her mouth only added to the nature of the taunt.

His chuckle rumbled low through the night air, the scar on his lip warping his smile in a curious way. His sword sang a song of freedom as he pulled it from the sheathe at his waist. “Never.”

They danced around one another for a moment, sizing up their opponent. Herah struck first, a big swing that chimed against his shield. The follow through brought an opening that Cullen lunged for, but she spun from the thrust of his blade. This quizzing of their opponents led to another moment of calm consideration. A few careful steps, each of them keeping the other in front of them. This time Cullen struck first. His sword drawing hers away from her body, he bashed at her with the shield in his off hand. With the turn of her head came an elbow that cracked into Cullen’s jaw, sending him staggering back a step.

He spat into the dirt. Adaar noticed no blood on his lips as he straightened. Squaring up again, the two chuckled at one another. As they rushed forward again, the testing was clearly over. He ducked beneath her swings. She repaid his shield work with unpulled punches. A chorus of grunts and groans echoed through the courtyard on a melody of metallic shears and clangs.

The wind rushed from Cullen’s lungs when his back hit the wall. His short inhale also pushed out when her body landed against his, pinning sword and shield against his body. “Score one for me,” she growled, her nose inches from his while her blade rested beneath both their chins.

When she pushed away again, the sparring match restarted in full force despite their breathlessness. Cullen was relentless. That was one of the many things she admired about the former templar, who the qunari would be bold enough to call her friend.

He pressed his attack, pushing her back across the smaller training area. Once her feet found the thicker grass, she knew she was near the wall and would have to end his advance. When she lunged forward, his shield came up cracking against her chin, dazing her a moment. Her back stung against the cold stone of the wall. The air rushed from her body as the full weight and force of him and his shield landed against her chest. He pinned her sword hand to the wall and held her there. Instinct brought her empty hand to his throat; she squeezed, lifting slightly.

 

**-2-**

Cullen stared up into her eyes. The hand tight on his throat loosened a moment after she grabbed him, but Herah didn’t let go. She didn’t push him off her either. His chin canted upward with the shift of her hand as her eyes seemed to search his for something. When her face bent toward his, he knew what she’d been looking for. Disapproval. She wouldn’t find it. Instead, he mirrored her movement. Leaning upward to meet her halfway. Like the clash of their swords, their mouths crashed against one another in a sharp crack of teeth. The momentary pain giving way to something else. A frenzy of desire and nature.

Her sword clattered against the ground, where his already lay, but he held her hand fast, pressing it harder against the stone. In reply, she gave his neck another squeeze. It wasn’t a threat, he knew. But it brought a growl into his throat all the same. Her tongue thrust past his lips with the same kind of deftness she displayed in the field. Cullen pulled away only long enough to drop his shield before pinning her muscular body between his and the icy stone once again. His hand now free to roam, he grabbed her ass, squeezing and pulling her body against his.

While the weapons of their duel might have changed, they still battled one another for a superiority of a different kind. Unused to the height difference between them, Cullen stretched up on his toes as she broke the kiss, trying to keep her lips on his. She chuckled at his insistence.

It was the clang of armor against stone that brought some sense back to the commander. Realization cut through the haze of lust. “Perhaps we should …”

His hesitation was his undoing. Herah turned the tables, reversing their positions. She pinned him against the wall, one hand still on his neck as the other locked his wrist against the stone near his head. Her crooked nose brushed against his, her piercing gray eyes filling his gaze. “Your office, then?” she suggested flicking her tongue against his top lip.

He felt her grip loosen as the space between them filled with crisp night air once more. His skin cried out for the warmth of hers, for the bare pressure of the weight of her leaning against him. And more than any of that the commander found he missed the feel of her thick hand on his throat once she let him go and walked away. The ease with which his breath moved into and out of his chest as he followed her felt greedy. He wanted it there, trusted her control over her hand and his breathing. As well as anyone, he knew the power in that single hand; she could crush his windpipe if it was what she wanted. But by the way she looked at him, by the way she kissed him, he could trust that she wouldn’t.

His footsteps mirrored the metronymic pace set by the swing of her hips as they moved across the yard and up a shadowed set of stairs. When they reached the door to his quarters, his hands played over the straight plane of her waist, bringing the warmth of her back against his body. He pressed a kiss to her shoulder, then nipped at it through her shirt. The hum that rose in her throat he took for a pleased response and did it again a little harder as he kicked the door closed behind him. The slam resounded through the room, as did her gruff grunt when her hips landed against the edge of the desk. A crash pulled them apart once more, their eyes going to the shards of glass and the growing puddle of dark liquid that shimmered in the low candlelight.

“Oops,” she said, her tone suggesting a lack of care for the wine. Her fingers pulled loose the neck of her shirt as her attention returned to him.

Cullen grinned, then pulled his shirt off. His hands met hers at the waist of her trousers, which she seemed to have well in hand, so he kissed her instead, leaving the laces to her.

They parted once more as she pranced out of her pants. Her passion-inspired dance matched by his own frenzy. Giving her a moment, he swept the remaining items from the top of his desk. The inquisitor perched on the edge and Cullen stepped between her thick thighs, his fingertips playing over a topography of hard muscle as their lips met in another hungry kiss. Her hands slipped between their bodies, deft and quick to release him. There was a surprising gentleness in the way she took his cock in hand. One stroked the length of his shaft as the other gripped and massaged his sack.

With a low groan, Cullen sucked on her tongue. A chuckle rose in her throat as she pulled away from him again. His quiet laugh joined hers as his hands tangled in the linen of her blouse. It pushed it upwards, letting his fingers skim her warm skin in the process. In an unexpected show of reluctance, Herah helped him pull it off.

She tossed it aside and he turned his gaze to her bare body. Hers was not the figure of a barmaid, but a warrior—broad shoulders, trim but square waist, and hard, thick muscle. The smooth deep gray of her skin was marred by lighter slashed scars, likely from sharp blades, but there were also thick patches of gnarled tissue discolored in shades that suggested the varied ages of the wounds. Herah Adaar’s life story was written in flesh—in powerful muscle and every single scar—she was a warrior, fought for every breath, every scrap, every kiss, he thought as his fingers danced over her skin with gentle reverence.

When his gaze met hers again, he realized she’d been watching him. Her dark, full lips curved upwards softly. Cullen ran the backs of his fingers up the column of her neck, then slipped behind it. The gentle touch gave way to a rough jerk as he brought her lips closer to his. He looked her in the eye, letting the tip of his nose brush hers, before he sealed their lips in another kiss brimming with hunger and heat.

Her arm draped over his shoulder, holding him close as they kissed. Cullen grasped her hips and yanked her to the edge of the desk. She opened her legs wider, allowing his cock to rub against her, the heat of her core sending flashes of need through his body. They only intensified, when her calloused fingers pinched the tip of his cock gently in order to guide him to her entrance.

When he met her gaze, a question pulling his brow together. “Are you—”

“Certain,” she answered before the question even finished.

Her chin dipped toward her chest. Piercing silver eyes, like the moon had been plucked from the sky and set in her gaze, bored into him from beneath her prominent brow. It was the same kind of challenging look she’d given him when she unsheathed her sword in the training yard.

Her leg hooked around his waist, her foot pressing into the back of his thigh. “Fuck me,” she said against his mouth, her sharp teeth tugging at his bottom lip.

It was all the encouragement he needed. Cullen pushed into her, sharp and hard; his entry came far easier than he’d expected. She was already slick with desire. For a moment, he wondered if the fight had her so excited, but the thought fell away with the sensation of her hand on his throat returned.

A hum rumbled in his chest as he met the challenge in her eyes. Pulling out almost all the way before slamming his hips against hers. That earned a low growl, and the upward curve of her lips. One hand tightened on the firm flesh of her hip as he slipped one hand under her leg, cradling it upward and opening her legs wider to allow a deeper stroke. The sharp nip of her teeth on his bottom lip matched the bite of her nails as she grasped his bare ass. Her whole body met the motions of his, from her rocking hips to the grip she had on his body, which she used to encourage a harder, faster stroke. Dipping his head, he pressed kisses over her chest, finding a pert nipple he sucked it into his mouth.

“Bite me,” she moaned, the sound deepened when he complied. It made him bolder. He nibbled his way across her chest, pressing hot kisses to each infraction. Her mouth closed on his earlobe, sucking hard at it before pulling away only slightly.

Her lips brushed against the shell of his ear with a single word. “Harder.”

Cullen raised his head as she leaned away from him. The inquisitor propped herself on one elbow and stared up at him. She rested one ankle on his shoulder and he pressed a kiss to her calf as he stared. The golden candlelight flickered off the light sheen of sweat on her skin as the snap of his hips became sharper, and the slap of their skin became louder. Taut muscles shifted beneath her skin--her abs tightened and flexed with every movement of her hips, the muscle in her arm shifted liquidly as she grasped the edge of the desk, then there was the telling quiver in her thigh.

His gaze traveled lower, noticing for the first time there she was hairless; he pressed his hand over her thigh and found the same was true there as well. He looked closer, studying her body. There was no glisten of downy hair, no streaks of black, he thought as his hand glided up her chest. He realized in that moment he had always assumed that her lack of eyebrows was from shaving; it seemed he might be wrong.

He teased at her breast, squeezing and rubbing until her head tilted back in a low groan. That’s when he pinched her nipple. The groan turned to a growl and brought her gaze back to his, staring at him.

Her free hand covered his hand upon her breast and guided it down her body. “Rub me,” she said, her fingers moving to place his thumb between the darker gray folds of her pussy. “Like this.” Her fingers moved with his, tracing the firm shape beneath her flesh there.

He watched their progress and when her hand pulled away, he noticed the soft pink nub peeking out. Dipping the digit lower to pick up some of her slick, he drew counterclockwise circles around and over her clit, even pinching it once or twice.

A dark, heady growl hung between them for a time, bringing his gaze back to her face. She stared at him with keen eyes. It almost felt like a dare, like she was challenging him to bring her to climax. Cullen took up that banner with fervor. He grabbed her leg and pulled her body closer, slamming his hips against hers, while he worked her clit. The guttural sounds of their pleasure gave way to anything resembling coherent speech. All that remained in that space was her pleasure and his own, which built and churned to a tightness that rested heavy in his balls. But he resisted. He would defeat the challenge she set. He would make her cum before he took his own pleasure. This was not a loss he would allow.

His determination paid off in spades. Everything stilled for a moment. Her body tightened under his hands. She went completely silent, not even drawing breath. “Ah,” she called out on a gasp finally. “Yes, like that. Don’t stop, Cullen” she ordered with a fire in her eyes that threatened to consume him.

They were again nose to nose; her hand tightened on his throat, and though it set his nerves on edge it was an exciting edge. Her grip on him and the pulse in her body took him with her. When he pulled out of her, she grasped his cock. Her fingers teased over the tip of him as he pumped his hips into her grip.

“Let go,” she said, a gentleness filed the rough edges out of her deep voice as her lips brushed against his.

As if those two words were all he needed to hear, it happened. His body jerked against her as he spilled into her hands and across their bodies. Cullen grabbed her face in both his hands, kissing her hard as the hand on his throat loosened. Herah’s nails skimmed down his chest, while her other hand still worked his cock as if milking every drop from him. They exchanged deep, hard kisses, all tongue and teeth, as their frenzy subsided.

Slowly, breath and reason returned to him. A small voice in the back of his mind prodded him with reminders, reminders of who he was, who she was.

Cullen broke the kiss quickly, staring down at her.

 

**-3-**

The wideness of his eyes made her laugh. “Ah, I see your propriety has returned to you,” she said, wearing a grin. “Should I return to calling you commander or can that wait until we’re dressed once more?” She hopped off the edge of the desk and glanced around the mess they’d made of his office for sign of her shirt. She was no stranger to this exact situation. A partner succumbing to a moment of passion before reason returned to enlighten them to the fact that they’d been in bed with a qunari, Tal-Vashoth or not.

“Inq—”

Herah held up a hand. That was not a title appropriate to the moment.

“Herah,” he said, his tone softer and far less surprised. He leaned one hand against his desk as if trying to find either his words or the rest of his reason.

“Do not fret, Cullen. I’m a sensible female. It was exertion, nothing more.” She plucked her shirt from beneath a few scrolls, shaking it once. As was her way, she offered him an out. He wouldn’t even have to say anything.

Before she could right her shirt, let alone think of putting it on, Cullen yanked it out of her hands. His lips were on hers again. This time when the kiss broke it was her eyes that were wide as she looked down at him. “I don’t believe that. And I don’t think you do either.”

The qunari didn’t say anything. Couldn’t even find a smart ass reply to his words. His thumb traced her prominent cheekbone, skimming a numb scar before tracing the shell of her ear to the point. All the while, she just stared as his eyes seemed to follow the roaming of his fingertips until his eyes found hers again. This wasn’t how this went. One of them should be dressing and leaving; this time her, since these quarters were his. He shouldn’t be touching her like this, looking at her with that same intense stare that always wore when he skimmed reports from the front. Herah didn’t even notice herself leaning toward him, her head tipping into his touch; she was caught up in the confusion sparked by his warm amber gaze sparkling in the candlelight.

“Don’t go,” he said. It wasn’t a request, but also wasn’t an order. He whispered it like a wish against her lips before his eyes slipped closed.

Different. It was the only word she had for the way he kissed her then. It wasn’t the same hot surprise as the one they shared in the yard. It wasn’t the same needy frenzy as when they’d fucked. This was something she didn’t know—just as deep, but far gentler … demanding, consuming. Like there was more at stake than just an orgasm.

To her own surprise, she didn’t shy away from it. Her hand skimmed the side of his neck, cradling his head as her own eyes slipped closed. The feel of his arm slipping around her, pulling her body against his, startled her. Her eyes searched his as he tightened his embrace again. Something blossomed in her chest, a warmth she couldn’t name, but she liked the feeling. Herah tucked her face into the curve of his neck, inhaling the scent of him—the tang of sweat, a hint of steel, and the musk of sex. This gesture this closeness relaxed her in an unfamiliar way, like there was nothing beyond that embrace and nothing that could reach her within it.

“Come.” Cullen released her, but she found herself aching to feel that again. So, she did just that.

As he climbed the ladder, she glanced up. Unable to contain a soft chuckle at the way his manhood bobbed and dangled through the climb. When she reached the upper floor, she found him smiling at her as he dragged a cloth over his stomach.

“Interesting sight, was it?”

“I’m not sure I’ve ever seen a man from that angle before,” the inquisitor admitted.

“Me either,” he said, closing the distance between them. “May I?”

She nodded. The cold of the cloth tightened her muscles and pushed a hiss through her teeth. “You said nothing about cold water.”

“No, I didn’t,” he agreed. He tossed the cloth in the direction of the basin he’d retrieved it from, and a moment later his arms were around her again, his lips on hers in that striking way that pooled a strange warmth in her belly.

Neither of them left that night. There was no quick dressing in the darkness, no rush across the yard back to the keep. Just calm quietude, warmth, and an embrace that carried them nearly to sunrise.

**Author's Note:**

> Written to fulfill a Black Emporium assignment for @amarmeme. This falls more along the side of mutual respect and friends to lovers. Though I think Herah qualifies as a kick-ass woman. And I find that’s one of the reasons Cullen was attracted to her when writing this. I honestly had no expectation about what would happen, it just sort of went there on its own. Thank you for including this pairing in your choices, I never would have stumbled upon this rare pair without the instigation. Oh, and thanks to @inuy21 who gave this a proofread. Thank you for your time and your encouragement, I really appreciated it.


End file.
